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I took a year’s hiatus from the art world, trying to figure some things out. I shut down the studio, stopped making saleable works, said no to shows. I didn’t stop working, though. It wasn’t a withdrawal from artmaking or a pursuit of worthier activities, it was an attempt to isolate my creative work from a confusing context so I could determine how to proceed. I switched coasts, I showed up to a dev conference with bourbon and a bag of money, I made headway on the dumb goal of getting all my nudes removed from the internet. That last one feels a little silly now, with its whiff of a me-too era will to integrity, and I can only explain it in terms of discomfort with the way artists are conditioned to seek visibility not only for their work but also for their trauma. The contemporary mandate is to know everyone and be known by all, and thus become a maximally reproducible component. And the wind cries, “Subscribe”